


The Happy Ending

by guremahishin



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: F/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guremahishin/pseuds/guremahishin
Summary: The magic ending takes a different turn than expected and Beatrice and Battler adjust to life together outside of Rokkenjima.





	1. Introduction: Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally self indulgent and for the sake of Beabato being happy. With trans Beatrice because that's not something I see, despite canon! Taking the magic ending and making it happier. I thought for a split second, after naming the fic, to go the Wayne's World route and have a Scooby-Doo ending too, and then I realized how hilariously appropriate that would actually be.
> 
> I'm just writing vignette style or whatever comes to me, Beabato's life in snippets! So please enjoy.
> 
> A special thanks to my lovely girlfriend for urging me to read Umineko!

Fate is cruel. It’s always been cruel to Beatrice, to Kanon, to Shannon -- to Sayo; to Yasu. A cruel end would only complete the pattern.

But it’s not what fate has in mind for her, it seems.

At the very last moment, she can no longer tell up from down. She surrenders herself to sinking, allowing her consciousness to fade. He jumped in with her at the end, and that’s the kindest ending she could hope for.

But she wakes up on the shore in his arms, fate playing out a miracle she hadn’t bet on. Perhaps Battler has been the one to bet on this. Perhaps he really did have Kinzo’s luck. It cost them both everyone but each other.

She’s in fate’s hands, by her own rules, and in Battler’s arms, so there’s no more running. She stays with him now.


	2. No Longer Furniture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So clever of me, referencing Dazai in the chapter title like that.

Life off the island is different. There isn’t a routine to her day, she no longer plays the part of furniture, and most of all, Battler loves her.

They lost the ingot they’d hauled from the island, but it wasn’t their only source of wealth. They have enough to establish themselves, get a nice cozy apartment of their own. This money may or may not last them the rest of their lives, but it’s enough for now.

Beato would be overwhelmed were they scrambling to survive, to have a place go. There are so many affairs to sort out about Battler’s family, which she’s sure he still needs to grieve some. He’d cried tears of joy when they washed up on the beach, but there may yet be other tears to shed. She doesn’t think it’s her place to console him. She doesn’t think it’s her place to be here with him at all, but he had been adamant; he wanted her here so, so be it.

And there are plenty of things on her mind, yet; things that can wait, in all probability, and things that Battler knows about, but which they’ll need to learn to navigate still.

They rent out hotel rooms until they can find a place -- a cute, cozy, little place they’re both fond of. She feels like a proper married couple in the moments they’re house hunting, and especially so when they choose one, and she daydreams of their life there. They don’t share a bed in their hotel room, despite this. She’s still ashamed and embarrassed and uncomfortable, and Battler is a perfect gentleman, not pushing her at all.

They kiss sometimes, but even that can only go so far before she feels discomfort with herself. She feels awful for it; Battler is so understanding, and simply puts an arm around her, tries to soothe her. She can see he hurts for her too, and she tries to let that prove she has nothing to worry about rather than making her feel worse.

Beato is stuck in this body. She feels trapped, feels all wrong. She coped in any way she could find, but Battler knows the truth now -- most of it. That he returned, understood her, and still loves her -- no, loves her properly now, for the first time, is beyond her wildest dreams. But that makes it hard to accept.

Magic.

It has to be magic. It can’t make her body what she wants it to be, but only with love can it be seen. Battler sees her as beautiful the way she is, with no exceptions. There has been no “besides this” or “in spite of that”; only love and adoration so strong and so pure they leave her overwhelmed. “My golden witch,” he calls her, still, honoring that wish.

She’s so lucky that surely fate will tear this from her soon.

So she’s resolved that by the time they move into their apartment, Beato will be sure to have gathered her courage and determination and give everything to him, just like she wants. Finding comfort isn’t so simple, but she’s spent many a night staring across the gap between their hotel beds, dreaming of how wonderful she’d feel being in his arms, wishing they were side by side, and knowing the only thing stopping them is something within her.

“Wake me up if you need me. Feel free to crawl right into my bed too,” he’d told her more than once, with a goofy smile. And as incompetent as he’s been, his sincerity is undeniable. She has to admit, quietly, that there is actually no one more competent to be with her now. There never has been; a person like that didn’t exist until now.

Finally, their last night in the hotel comes, and the following day they can take their time settling into a shared space, building a home together. Right now, Beatrice wants to take the first step. Perhaps he didn’t expect her to take him up on his offer, but when she exits the bathroom, ready for bed and finds Battler with his eyes shut, relaxing in bed, she takes a steadying breath.

Slowly, she crawls from the foot of the bed up to his side. The moment he feels her weight on the bed, his eyes open a crack, and she nearly loses her nerve, but it’s too late for that. _He knows_ , she reminds herself. _He knows and he offered anyway_.

“Beato…?” There’s surprise in his voice, but she’s already here. He’s laying on his back, and she silently nuzzles her way against his chest, his arm resting around her.

“Did I wake you?” she asks after a moment of pause. “You told me I could. You’d better have meant it.”

“No. You didn’t wake me.” His arm tightens some around her, and she feels both relief and more anxiety to have him so close. “But I did mean it.” And then he kisses the top of her head and, somehow, she can relax and let her eyes shut this time.

“Good.” She makes a show of nuzzling against him, making herself comfortable. It’s for her own benefit as much as his, though, trying to adjust herself to the feeling of pads pressed against another body -- trying to find comfort. She wonders idly, as she tries to find rest, whether she’ll be comfortable enough to abandon padding like that entirely.

Still, Beatrice manages to drift off and wake still in Battler’s arms, much more comfortably than on the beach this time. She’ll count it as a success.


	3. Comfort

From then on, she’s able to share a bed with him. But total comfort is still a long way off and Beatrice is unsure whether she can see it at all from here. Battler has brought her closer than she knew was possible for her, and his strength carries her onward frequently, still. But the smallest of steps can still feel enormous.

They happily decorate all their rooms to their liking, and it’s easy to laugh and joke with him as they do -- about what sort of decorations suit a witch’s abode, or how she could do this or that with magic, but prefers to watch her doting husband see the task through for her. And Battler enthusiastically responds, with a biting retort or loving complaint or rebuttal about such hard work, and how she ought to reward him.

But when it comes to such rewards, Beatrice is still finding her comfort. He never truly pushes her, but there are nights when she kisses him goodnight and wishes she could find it in herself to do so longer -- wishes she could do more than that. She tries sometimes, and finds that comfort just out of reach. A kiss will go on, and grow deeper and more heated, and all is well until she can feel that heat in her body. And then her cheeks burn and she hides her face, curled up against his side.

Still, he doesn't push her, never pushes her; only wraps her protectively in his arms. Wordlessly, he seems to say he won't let anything hurt her. There's just one thing he can't stop: she can still hurt herself. But each time, he makes that more difficult, helps her craft an armor against it, and she finds she can endure more.

It takes some willpower, some concentrated effort to ignore what it means for her body to be turned on. But Battler loves her, and that is her mantra. He loves her, and if it's because they are in love that she can feel this way, there can be nothing wrong with it.

He clearly finds nothing wrong with it. He's cautious, aware that Beatrice is sensitive about this still, but his enthusiasm seeps through regardless, and is a wonderful reinforcement in those doses.

She inches closer still to the comfort she desires.


	4. Grief

Beatrice wants to be a loving, supporting wife to compliment her doting husband, but this too she finds a bit difficult to navigate. Many of the ways he needs support -- or rather, the reasons he needs support, have to do with her.

She can tell he tries not to burden her with his grieving, which may only make her feel worse. To see him suffering alone makes her chest ache as well. What she can't tell is whether it's even more her responsibility because it's her fault, or whether it means she ought to give him space to deal with it.

She doesn't want him to be alone. He is alone enough, because of her, and she won't allow him to be any more so. She sees his shoulders quiver with silent sobs late at night, and slowly and gently presses herself to his back, arms wrapping around to hold him.

She doesn't say a word.

His sobs come harder and more audible then, and she knows she's done the right thing. She who caused the agony is the only one left who can soothe the ache, give him the freedom to let the pain out.


	5. Trust

Being bold in this situation is a snap decision on Beatrice’s part.

It’s been more than long enough, in her opinion, by the time Battler returns from an errand to the store with a gift for her. It’s clear he’s nervous and sheepish about it, despite his grin. He hasn’t done anything wrong, though, so she’ll reward them both if she can. It may just be the excuse she needs, the push she was waiting for.

He’s found a simple but lovely nightgown with golden butterflies on it that he was unable to pass up. He wants to dote on her more, and furthermore, it’s as perfect for her as anything he could possibly imagine. His thoughtfulness is nearly too much for her, and she struggles to justify it with the Battler who couldn’t so much as remember his sin.

“Try it on me.” It’s not a request, but a demand despite the way her voice shakes. It turns his shy expression to true embarrassment. That does make her want to grin, seeing how his manner of speech doesn't match him in situations like this at all. He may be able to banter and flirt endlessly, but when she finds the courage to take any of it a step further, she delights in watching him falter and crumble.

It’s always embarrassing for her too, but Beatrice does enjoy having an upper hand. This is a game she can win at, so she does it every chance she gets. She was the first to kiss him, and she’ll make the first move here too. She knows he never will, and her taking the initiative when she feels ready is for the best.

Battler swallows visibly, but nods. She can appreciate the courage it’s taking him, though hers is likely several times that. She makes it a challenge for a doting husband such as him, hoping the familiarity of an atmosphere like that will encourage him, and ease them both: “You’re not going to make a lady do all the work, are you?”

It’s a success; she gets a signature grin from him. “That would be pretty rude of me, huh?”

After agreeing, and hearing so plainly more than once now that it’s okay, that it’s what she wants him to do, he gets himself to step closer to her. He sets the nightgown aside and begins to unbutton her blouse. Her bare skin comes into view a little at a time, and then her padded chest. She hasn’t properly let him see this much yet, but as with all things they’ve done together thus far, their decision is made, and the task executed unflinchingly. He’s felt it pressed against him, even been allowed to brush a hand across her, but seeing has been another matter entirely until now.

He looks, but doesn’t stop to stare. That isn’t his mission now. Battler undoes every last button and slides the blouse off her shoulders.

Her skirt is a simpler matter, which he slides down easily. It’s no less nerve-wracking, but a simpler and quicker task. He’s crouched down to lower her skirt to the ground, allowing Beatrice to step out of it. He glances up at her from there, and his voice is low and meaningful, but sincere.

“You’re beautiful.”

Beatrice is still bashful in a situation like this; something like this is still embarrassing, so she blushes, both from flattery and angry embarrassment. “Who allowed you to say such a thing from a place like that without kissing my feet? Stand up.”

When he does as she says, Beatrice can see that Battler too has a faint blush on his face. And yet he said that so she would know what he truly thought in that moment. It makes her resolve all the stronger, really.

She doesn’t tell him to shut his eyes this time. But he does it instinctively when her lips press against his.

It’s a soft and chaste kiss, one that lingers. And when it ends, Beatrice shuts her eyes and leans her forehead on Battler’s. She finds his hands and guides them to her chest. “Get rid of these too.”

The prospect is nerve-wracking, still, but with a deep breath, she knows she can take this step. She can do it because it’s Battler. Because he loves her, understands her, and has not pushed her to this a single inch. He looks surprised, in fact, when she opens her eyes. He looks concerned.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, and he gently, so caringly does as she asked. Her face is red, but his is too. Somehow she knows, just looking at his face, that it’s not normal embarrassment; he’s this flattered to see her as she is, to see something so private and be trusted with it, and it makes tears well in her eyes, but she blinks them back.

Battler clears his throat, regains some composure, and readies the nightgown. He manages to meet her eye despite his blush, and offer a small sheepish smile too.

“Here.” He holds the gown out for her, allows her to slip her arms in and gently tug it down over her form, letting it fall smoothly. His smile when he meets her eye this time is bigger than before. “It suits you.”

And somehow she has never felt more comfortably herself than with these defenses down, leaning in to kiss him, wearing the nightgown he bought her.


End file.
